• Socialize.

During my first few months here, I tried my darndest to look busy at all times. When I wasn't actively helping a patron, I was tidying books and working on the computer. This lasted up until my first review, when I was told that I was spending too much time at the children's desk. Instead, I was told, I should have been wandering over to the reference desk and talking with the other librarians. I wasn't being social enough, you see; in order to do a good job, I simply needed to up my gossip quota.

Over the next few months, I made sure that my free time was spent gabbing away with the gals, and my next review went splendidly. Eric, the dedicated worker, remains unamused by the situation; "You are so overpaid," he claims.

• Learn the phrase, "Does this completely answer your question?" and be able to paraphrase it.

Every workshop that I attend seems to have at least one session on "The Reference Interview," and every instructor has been adamant that I conclude each patron's business with that question. I envisioned myself testing this out on the five-year-olds who come to me for help, and I chuckled. Even the variants, "Is that everything you need?" or "Is there anything else I can do for you?" didn't seem appropriate. Today, though, just for sport, I've been tacking it on at the tail of each of my conversations, and the results have been completely painless: everybody has said, "No, thank you," and my boss has seemed quite pleased. I guess those teachers knew something, after all.

• Name drop as if you life depended on it.

After my first class, Boss-Lady's first question was not, "What did you learn?" It was, "With whom did you go to lunch?" Apparently, this is an issue akin to the first; I was to have been making friends as much as learning. Sadly, I had gone to lunch alone, and Boss-Lady had to shake her head and "tsk-tsk" at me.

This time, I was ready for her. At the librarians' meeting this morning, when asked to talk about the symposium: "Oh, Barb's lecture was simply wonderful, and Traci was an absolute doll - she had us playing Quidditch! I do think, though, that Carolyn's discussion was my favorite." Boss-Lady looked inordinately pleased with me. Never call me a slow learner.

• Be perky.

Eric thinks the fact that all three children's librarians answer the phone with the same voice ("Children's!") is hysterical. I'm well aware that my voice completely changes character when I pick up the phone, but it's not something over which I've been able to exert much control; I tend to smile when I lift the receiver, and then I end up exaggerating the happy tone for which I'm aiming. The result is an almost disgustingly sugary welcome which makes me cringe, but contains the very same level of saccharine as Boss-Lady's own greeting.

I've read that the surest way to climb the corporate ladder is to imitate one's boss. Do telephone greetings count?

If I think of more later, I'll let you know. I'm daily amazed by what I find myself doing to fit in with this crowd. If my old college pals could see me now, they'd laugh themselves silly - and then say that this is where they saw me heading all along.

Well, I've got one more thing to add to the list of crazy librarian stunts on which I've chosen to embark. I've decided to seriously look into pursuing a Master's of Library Science degree. What the heck, you know? I've only been out of school a short while, so it won't be tremendously difficult to get my head back into that routine. If, God forbid, we should end up living childfree, I can honestly see myself doing this for the rest of my life, and an MLS would make me employable wherever Eric's job should happen to take us. Finally, the MLS could mean a higher salary. I'm not immune to that temptation.

I went ahead and told Boss-Zilla that I was interested. The ball has been set into motion.

Picture yourself trying to read a story over the noise of screaming infants and pot-banging toddlers:

"When the fly flew...When the FLY FLEW IN, the dog opened one eye...he OPENED ONE EYE! WAGGLED ONE WHISKER! A WHISKER! He opened one eye, waggled one whisker, and streaked after it...He STREAKED AFTER IT! After the FLY! See the FLY? Ah, just look at the pictures."

Both groups of kids seemed to enjoy the stories greatly, though, and they all begged for more when I was done. I guess I was a good representative, even if I nearly needed a megaphone. Had I had the time, I might have been tempted to just have the infant-watchers bring their charges over into the circle and do a "Baby Lapsit" storytime as a grand finale.

Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to think about this on my terms, and share only as I see fit? Probably. Well, then, would it be too terribly direct of me to firmly tell her that our efforts won't be cured in a week, and that we will call her if anything should change? She's a sensitive woman, and if she starts crying again, I think I'll shoot myself.

Tomorrow night is my first RESOLVE meeting. Eric doesn't think he'll be able to come, since he'll almost certainly have to work late. While that bothers me a bit (well, a great deal, actually), I won't let it keep me from going. Even if he feels stable enough to continue without support, I've reached the point where I'm desperate to talk to somebody, face to face, about this - somebody who knows what I'm going through and who won't mind if I can't keep the tears from spilling. I've reached the point where I can't even make it through a church service without nearing complete hull breach; something has to give.

Me, in therapy. You know, I actually tried this once before, back in college; I was coming away from a rough time with my mother, and I decided to give the free ("free" as in "part of the many wonderful fees included with your tuition") student psychiatric help a try. I talked with the shrink for about half an hour, saying everything I had to say, and was told that they would call me back to set up a "real" appointment. I never got that phone call. It's a darn good thing that I wasn't suicidal, no?

I was looking on the internet to get the directions to the hospital for tomorrow's meeting, and Boss-Lady glanced over my shoulder. "Why're you going to the hospital?" I mumbled something about a support group, and she didn't ask any more questions. The hospital's web page doesn't say anything about RESOLVE, so I'm not concerned that she might try to check up on me. If anything, she probably thinks that it's a diabetes group for Eric.

Well, I need to get dinner in the oven. Tonight it's a bacon and onion quiche. Don't get too impressed; it's one of those frozen "pour-a-quiche" things, but it's still better than heading out to a steak house or something, right?